


Playtime

by rispacooper



Category: Psych
Genre: Bondage, Closet Sex, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Frottage, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn is acting up. And bad boys have to remember the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [senor_coconut_1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=senor_coconut_1).



> A cracky Xmas snippet for senor_coconut_1. Also, well, there's this cracky AU dlasta and I have been joking about that I hint at here, in which Lassiter and Lady Heather from CSI are long time friends, mostly based loosely on the infamous convention picture and, you know, on the fact that Melinda Clarke and TO know each other and nothing else at all. We are insane. So this is, but isn't, a crossover, in that Lady Heather is mentioned.

There wasn't much that Carlton could see over the piles of plastic-wrapped evidence and mountains of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk and which he had arranged to resemble Fort Sumter—pre being fired upon. There was the ceiling, and the tops of a few lamps, and McNab, walking back and forth; the man was _tall_.

Normally, the wall of criminal investigative tools and clues would have been a problem, as Carlton liked to keep an eye on his exits and entrances as well as the collection of officers around him. But today he had specifically arranged these very walls for reasons both defensive and offensive. Well, all right, yes, mostly defensive.

The first was to create a buffer between him and Spencer. It sounded cowardly when put that way, though Carlton honestly couldn't think of a different way to put it. He'd really tried too, all during lunch with O'Hara and then on the way back, but it was hard to focus with O'Hara giving him strange looks as he pretended not to see Shawn and his partner in idiocy waving at them from across the street, or doing cartwheels at the beach by the bench where they'd been eating, or waiting in line behind them at the taco cart and loudly discussing Meredith Baxter having the courage to come out so late in life.

It was exactly similar to this very moment, in which Spencer and Guster were ping-ponging their thoughts about Tom Hanks' early work being far superior to the films that got him Academy Awards. They'd already gone over “The Money Pit” in excruciating detail and were now on “Dragnet”. The “Bosom Buddies” talk alone had made it clear that a) Shawn had way too much free time and b) he was planning on spending the whole day down at the station driving Carlton crazy until Carlton finally paid attention to him.

Carlton worked his jaw, shifted in his seat.

It wasn't that he didn't want to pay attention to Shawn, he reasoned, to himself, again. After all, it had been days since Carlton had been home for longer than it took him to shower and change, and in the few moments of peace he'd had, he'd wanted to sleep. Shawn hadn't been around anyway, he and Guster had trotted off to some spa retreat which Guster was still refusing to admit put him a few points higher on the Kinsey scale. It had been _days_ since Carlton had even talked to Shawn, of _course_ he wanted to pay attention to him.

It was just that he was at work, and had a lot of things to catch up on now that the stakeout was over and a suspect was in custody. Things like type up reports and start going through the bizarre items they'd collected from the woman's house in search of more evidence against her. He wanted this conviction to be a slam dunk.

And of course, there was also the fact that no way was he giving Shawn what he wanted until the man had earned it. Shawn knew the rules as well as Carlton did, probably better, and if he wanted it to be Playtime—Playtime, the disturbingly childish term Shawn used to describe the...kinkier...side of their relationship—then he had to obey the rules. Just showing up and following Carlton around, while annoying when he was trying to focus, and sort of arousing in that Shawn was finally _near_ him again, wasn't something that deserved any of the usual punishments.

If anything, it was sort of sweet, in a Spencer way. It meant Shawn couldn't wait to be with him, but wasn't ready to admit it yet. Well, that or that he and Guster had just _happened_ to be everywhere Carlton had been today. But nothing with Shawn was ever that simple.

Sweet didn't exactly require discipline. Sweet should have meant dinner at his house, or Shawn's, and bed, and waking up hot and sweaty because Shawn had climbed all over him in his sleep _again_. Sweet did not mean handcuffs, or ropes, or that paddle with “Bad Boy” written on it in metal studs, or that collar, or the _other_ collar, or Carlton's old uniform, or that vibrating thing that Shawn had thought was hysterical until the first time he'd worn it out in public and then realized that Carlton had been holding the remote.

Carlton's grin at the memory was feral. For once Shawn's flailing had been legitimate.

Shawn had to be made to understand that there was a time and a place for fun and games. That rules had to be respected.

Which brought him back to the walls around his desk, and their other purpose.

Carlton coughed, then ducked his head to resume flipping through “Lady Heather's Guide to Being a Good Dominatrix. Fifth Edition”. While technically not needed for evidence, Carlton had grabbed it—borrowed it—from the suspect's house anyway.

Shawn was young and creative so new ideas were always good, he told himself. And anyway Carlton didn't own any of the reprints—he wasn't even sure where his First Edition had ended up after the move. Heather would be upset; she had personally given him his copy in thanks for his assistance. He might not live the life, might not want to live in the tree, as Shawn liked to say, but that didn't mean it wasn't fun to play in the tree house. Heather was an old friend, and as embarrassing as it could have been, giving feedback for something like that, it had also been sort of fun.

Though in retrospect, he was glad that he hadn't had to wear the leather outfits more than the one week he'd spent her establishment. They were hot and uncomfortable, at least for him, and he didn't think they were flattering to him, no matter what the array of subs had told him. And _that_ had been just after college; if he had tried to wear those clothes now, Shawn would probably die laughing.

Though Shawn did seem to have a thing for shiny leather work boots. The more he'd mocked them, the more he'd ended up moaning on his knees as he'd licked them clean.

Ooh, there was a new chapter. Carlton almost grabbed a highlighter and some Post its until he remembered the book wasn't his. He made a disgruntled face, but kept reading. The chapter was titled, “Don't Get Caught Up In The Accessories: Domming on a budget, or having fun in the moment”. That was like Heather, thoughtful, yet practical. The Martha Stewart of pain and humiliation. He ought to call her, see how she was doing. Now that Victoria wasn't around anymore, he wouldn't have to sneak in the calls, _or_ listen to Heather politely condemn his choice in a spouse. He wondered what she'd think of Shawn—he already knew somehow that Shawn would _love_ her.

He flipped through the illustrations and suggestions of new uses for common household items, and despite his age and experience felt his face flushing with heat. Thank God for the Fort Sumter of evidence. Shawn's gaze was too sharp as it was.

Carlton glanced up at the thought, stretching a little to get a good look at Shawn, who had parked his fine ass on O'Hara's desk at enough of an angle to allow him to keep an eye on Carlton. Probably thought he was being subtle. Carlton spent a moment trying to hide his indulgent smile. Shawn was in the middle of a rant about how Friday and Strebeck were clearly destined to be together but when he saw Carlton looking at him, he winked and shifted, rubbing that ass of his around just to get Carlton's attention.

Teasing little minx. Carlton narrowed his eyes and caught the sudden, pleased color work its way across Shawn's face, how Shawn's mouth softened. The man had ordered five tacos and yet somehow he still looked _hungry_.

Carlton let himself smirk, which lasted until Shawn darted out his tongue to wet his lower lip before smirking back at him. Know it all smartass. Like he knew exactly what Carlton was currently thinking about, wall or no wall.

Carlton resisted the urge to get up and flip that slut onto his stomach over O'Hara's desk in order to strip his jeans off him and make him moan like a good little tart, and merely lifted an eyebrow before returning to his reading. He ignored the pout he knew was directed his way and instead listened to Shawn getting louder. Trying harder to get Carlton's attention, Shawn wouldn't like that. Good. He could have waited a few more hours, met Carlton somewhere private, but he hadn't. He'd decided to torture both of them instead by coming here.

By being close. By speaking. His voice rising and falling with excitement exactly the same way it did when Carlton had him over his knee, or facedown in a pile of pillows, or had shoved him back before he could get his mouth around Carlton's cock.

Crap. It had been a _really_ long few days and Carlton had a lot of work to get done before he could even _think_ about going home. Maybe Shawn did want to get punished, because he had to know that, what he was doing to Carlton with his act.

Carlton tapped his fingers against the pages in front of him and then focused on the words next to the intriguing black and white drawing. The picture featured a man and a woman, but he was a detective after all, he could easily imagine himself in the woman's place. Even in the same outfit, or something close enough.

His pants suddenly felt a bit tighter. Maybe he ought to attempt some sort of new costume for Playtime, spice things up. Shawn might make a few “He-Man” jokes at the straps across his chest, but it wouldn't take him long to end up with his mouth against the leather, or pleading at Carlton's feet. Carlton could probably even get him to the point where just smelling leather would have Shawn hard and begging for it.

He looked up again. That sounded good. Winding Shawn up, taunting him in return, making him wait like he should have. Punish him now, punish him the rest of the day, really, and then reward him properly at home.

There were the small matters of his dignity—though he seemed to be the only one in the department who cared about that anymore—and having the right tools for the job, but then, as Lady Heather pointed out, it was the fantasy behind the equipment more than the equipment itself. He didn't have rope, but he could improvise.

In fact, improvise was now going to be his middle name.

Carlton stood up so abruptly that both Shawn and Guster stopped talking for a moment and stared at him. O'Hara did too, not hiding her surprise very well. Carlton ignored her, directing one quick, level look at Shawn, and then glancing casually away.

He closed the book and placed it carefully in his drawer and locked that before he stepped away, moving as though he was heading toward the bathroom. He slowed once he was out of sight, hanging back enough that he could hear the first soft scrap of rubber-soled Roos on the floor behind him, and then he sprang into action.

Shawn didn't put much effort into suppressing his yelp when Carlton turned and grabbed him by his collar, didn't even stop talking about Carlton giving a poor psychic a heart attack until Carlton swung the door to the supply closet open and shoved him inside. He shut the door behind him and flicked the light switch.

The one dim bulb swinging from the ceiling didn't illuminate much, but he could make out Shawn's amused expression and gave Shawn a smile of his own. _His_ smile made Shawn's turn knowing.

“Couldn't resist me, huh, Lass?” he teased, a smug little bastard until Carlton took him by the arm and turned him around. With his face to the wall, Shawn let out one small, surprised, but not entirely unhappy grunt.

There wasn't much wiggle room—literally; Shawn tried to push back against him with a sexy wriggle and knocked himself sideways against a mop bucket. The space was hot, dusty, and there was an overwhelming scent of pine floor cleaner. Carlton had stumbled in here one day when he'd spilled coffee and the maintence people hadn't been around.

He thought it was kind of perfect. Nobody ever wanted to come in here. Nobody else would right now.

He shoved Shawn into the wall again and held him there with the weight of his body while he grabbed both of Shawn's hands and twisted them behind his back. Whatever Shawn had been expecting him to do, it clearly wasn't what Carlton did.

At the _snick_ of Carlton's handcuffs snapping into place around his wrists, Shawn froze.

“Is this about that video that ended up on Youtube?” he wondered immediately and then relaxed before Carlton was tempted to ask what the hell he was talking about. “Or is this about my speeding tickets, Officer?” Shawn teased, angling his head back to try to look at him as though this was one of their usual games.

It was enough to make Carlton's grin get wider, though of course Shawn couldn't see it. He stepped back as much as he could so he could spin Shawn roughly back around. He wanted to see Shawn's face for this one.

“You know the rules.” Carlton breathed out, kept his voice calm. Shawn's mouth fell open, just a little, enough. He stared for a moment, glancing toward the door. His frown seemed more confused than angry or unwilling.

“Rules! You're the one changing the rules!” he argued, and Carlton palm itched with the need to spank him. He narrowed his eyes again and Shawn swallowed. His body moved, shifted at just the idea, as though Shawn was reading his mind and the thought of a spanking had him excited, and Carlton felt a real spark of desire the way he hadn't in almost a week. Shawn's voice was starting to lose strength. “You said...Lass, you said not at the station.”

“I did.” Carlton let _his_ voice get lower, turn into the rumble that Shawn liked so much. Shawn hit the wall, and all the laughter that had been in him only a few minutes ago was gone. He was focused, still, the Shawn the world saw in the moments before a “vision”.

“And yet you brought it here anyway...” Carlton went on, lifting his chin before ensuring that Shawn would be solely thinking about _him_ for the next few minutes. “...Shawn.”

Shawn's head went back too, exposing his throat, all his stubble. Another time and Carlton would have touched him there, kissed him there even with the burn, but Shawn hadn't earned that yet. Carlton curled his hands at his sides and stayed where he was.

“But...Lassie, you were gone...” He tried to argue, recovered enough to try to stand up and come toward Carlton, even with his hands behind his back, but Carlton straightened and shook his head, stopping Shawn in his tracks.

“What did I say?” he demanded again, and took his eyes off Shawn to toy with his watch, as though he didn't care that he had Shawn at his mercy in front of him, as though he hadn't cuffed him for sexual purposes in the station's supply closet.

“That you...uh...really missed me while I was soaking in a hot spring and getting mud rubbed on my face to keep my pores clean?” It was reassuring that Shawn had had to work to think of something obnoxious to say and Carlton hadn't touched him yet. Carlton looked up from his watch, waited.

Shawn quickly brought his gaze up, as though he hadn't been checking out Carlton's package. His eyes said that he was looking forward to his punishment.

Carlton didn't let himself smile, but this...this was going to feel good. Being apart for a few days was so worth it now.

“Do I have to ask again, Shawn?” Any other time and Shawn might have taken his time, but the situation, where they were, how long it had been since they'd even been alone, much less had sex, was clearly on Shawn's mind. He wet his lips, but tried to appear serious.

He shook his head, giving in for now, but Carlton wasn't fooled. Even if Shawn _had_ meant it, it didn't mean he was excused for his behavior earlier.

“You said not at the station, you adorable psychic you,” Shawn repeated and Carlton nodded slowly.

“And where are we?”

Shawn rolled his eyes, proving that Carlton had been right about Shawn not being ready to give in, but he answered.

“At the station,” he admitted. Carlton nodded again. Hearing himself always made his face go hot, not that Shawn would be able to see much of that in here. Heather was right, sometimes making do with the tools at hand was better than careful planning.

“So...?” Carlton dragged it out anyway, didn't miss how Shawn moved, stopping himself before could step forward. His gaze dipped again, to Carlton's crotch, and Carlton knew where Shawn thought this was going. He let his mouth curve up.

“So I've been very bad and you are going to do something about it.” Shawn didn't sound hurt, or upset, or even sorry. What he _did_ sound was hopeful.

If he _had_ been sorry, Carlton might have gone easier on him. But he hadn't, so Shawn had brought this on himself.

“Oh I am...” Carlton's voice dipped down another octave, rumbled in his chest as he held up his wrist to show his watch to Shawn. Shawn blinked in confusion, but seemed arrested as Carlton pointed to the face. His eyes followed Carlton's fingers like a drunk in a sobriety test. His face as flushed as well, and Carlton liked that, liked the idea of Shawn drunk on _him_. But it didn't make him feel inclined to be merciful; if anything, it made the need to punish Shawn stronger. Like a drunk driver, Shawn needed to be taught a lesson.

Carlton stroked the band of his watch, let his fingers circle his wrist. Shawn pushed back against the wall, slowly up and down. Then Carlton leaned in. “That's why you have two minutes.”

“Wha...? Two minutes?” He loved the stunned, lost look in Shawn's eyes as his gaze went from the watch to Carlton's face and back again, not following. The moment was almost perfect.

Carlton gave into temptation—just a little—and moved forward. He pushed Shawn back until he grunted for real, until it had to be awkward for him and their bodies were crushed tight together between the wall and that mop bucket, and then he held up his watch again. Shawn's chest was heaving.

“To get yourself off,” Carlton explained, something vicious and dark and hot thrilling through him at the way Shawn sucked in breath, disbelief all over his face. “Understand?” The rules were laid out, he just needed Shawn to agree. Shawn's gaze went to the watch again, and then to Carlton's face. His mouth moved, shaping a few words he didn't actually get out. Then he jerked his head, his eyes round as he nodded. “Good.” Carlton made sure to sound bored, even with his dick twitching against the heat of Shawn's body. “Starting...” He touched his watch one final time. “...Now.”

He moved first, cheating and not caring, putting his hands on Shawn and holding Shawn to the wall as he bent his head. He sucked a long, hard kiss under Shawn's ear and a shoved a knee between Shawns' legs. He didn't grind or push forward, didn't have to once Shawn's body caught up to what his mind hadn't grasped yet and he slid down just to push back up, straining to move with his hands trapped behind his back.

Shawn's skin _was_ softer, Carlton noted abstractly, distracting himself from Shawn's spicy breath and the familiar weight of Shawn almost in his arms. Shawn _was_ soft, silky. His nails had been smooth. He'd been pampered, scrubbed and soaked and massaged while Carlton had been here working, and for that Carlton pressed his teeth to his skin, not biting, not breaking the skin, but bruising Shawn just the same. He wanted this to hurt, wanted Shawn to sting from the touch of his hands, needed all that soft skin to be red and used so Shawn couldn't deny it any more.

No more following him around, no more goddamn Tom Hanks conversations. If Shawn wanted him, then Shawn got him. Now. Like this. On Carlton's terms.

And if he submitted properly, then they could negotiate for something else later.

Shawn made a noise, a low, unsteady sort of a noise, and jerked when he realized he couldn't move, when he remembered his hands were locked behind his back. Give him enough time and Shawn would be out of those cuffs. Carlton had no intention of letting that happen any time in the next minute and thirty seconds.

Restraint would be such a waste of that precious time.

He worked his hands under Shawn's shirt and then the t-shirt underneath, splaying his fingers out posessively over his belly, his hips, then thrusting forward. Shawn was hard against his thigh, and trying to hitch up in fast, increasingly desperate motions.

“Lass. Isn't. Fair.” His voice was raspy, rough next to Carlton's ear, and Carlton smiled; something about shocking Shawn and owning his ass at the same time made his cock hard. He had Shawn good and pinned, helpless, and Shawn was going to be thinking of this for the rest of the day, of Carlton hot against him, Carlton's mouth sucking dark red circles under his jaw, along his throat, their heavy breathing the only sound in the tiny space except for the soft chafe of Shawn's jeans as Carlton pushed into him and the rub of fabric against the wall behind Shawn.

Shawn's ass should be getting pink already. Carlton still wanted to spank him until he was compliant. Too bad there was no time at the moment.

One minute left.

Carlton popped the button on Shawn's fly, dispensed with his zipper, and focused on the trail of hair at his fingertips. It was so hot in here, getting hotter, Shawn's skin was damp. Shawn whimpered and slid down, twitching back up the moment Carlton moved his head, _did_ bite him.

It was soft, a reminder, of home, of what he could do later, and even then he did it to distract Shawn from the hand he slipped between Shawn's boxers and Shawn's skin. He shut his eyes at how sweet it was, at how Shawn gulped for air when he felt Carlton's touch, at how easily Shawn let him reach around to cup his ass and drag him forward.

One hand and then two, curving over hot, firm flesh, all the while with Shawn breathing out half words and his name. Not quite pleading, not yet, more like demanding. That Carlton fuck him or suck him, that he be allowed to do the sucking. His movements were jerky, without rhythm. He was forward and then back, up and then down, and still slow, as though he didn't believe that his time was running out.

Little ass thought he was irresistible.

That it was almost the truth, that wasn't important right now. That was for tonight and the privacy of home.

Carlton shifted his stance to position himself between Shawn's legs as he brought their bodies together. All it took was one exploring finger and Shawn was shaking, hating Carlton and loving him at the same time, judging from his words.

“Wha... How much?” he wanted to know, then shook his head, violently, as Carlton pushed in. His fingers wasn't even wet, and Shawn arched up, still and trembling. “You jerk.” He moved back down with another hitch of his hips, and then hissed when Carlton crooked his finger. Despite the hot blood humming through his body, Shawn was suddenly quiet, breathing hard. Carlton imagined Shawn's fingers curling around the silver of his cuffs as he tried to hold on and tested him again, stroking a few times and making Shawn shiver. “Lassie. Lassie, _please_.”

He was begging at last, his voice sweetly high-pitched and getting higher once he felt what he was doing to Carlton. Carlton wasn't going to deny his arousal—he wasn't Shawn. He _wanted_ Shawn to know how turned on he was, so that Shawn would understand what he was doing here. Not that Shawn was thinking. He was trying to push himself away from the wall without the use of his hands, straining to get closer.

He'd be marked from the cuffs too, with red circles, rings in his smooth, pampered skin. From _Carlton's_ cuffs. He rocked himself forward, struggling to catch his breath at every bruise Carlton left on his throat. He wasn't pleased, wasn't anything but hungry when Carlton thrust into the heat between his thighs. But he was still giving orders. “Don't stop.”

“Thirty seconds,” Carlton reminded him, reminded himself, his voice no longer rough on purpose. Shawn made a sound like Carlton was killing him, did it again when Carlton pulled out his finger and squeezed his ass so he could hike him up. Shawn's heart was pounding, his skin burning, and still so, so soft. He tried to raise his legs, entrap Carlton, but couldn't balance himself without his hands. His groan of disappointment made Carlton smile before he pressed himself tight to his body. He could feel every inch of Shawn's cock, hot, throbbing, jumping and no doubt leaking.

He hoped Shawn's boxers were soaked, that his jeans were starting to show how ready he was. He would have to explain it others, would have to admit the truth, if just to himself, that he had tried to test Carlton and had ended up a shaking, moaning mess in Carlton's arms instead, waiting for permission to come.

And he would. He would wait. Those were the rules.

“Shawn.” Saying the name always drove Shawn crazy. He should think about that too. All day while Carlton had to go without this. Think about Carlton driving into him tonight and saying his name.

“Lass,” Shawn panted, moving when Carlton did, trying to get his mouth at Carlton's jaw, and then at his throat above his collar and tie. Shawn's mouth was quick, his lips open and wet, and Carlton almost groaned. He knew where he was putting that mouth later, for Shawn's sake.

Poor, suffering Shawn. All he'd had to do was submit. But he liked to make things difficult. It was one of his best traits outside of fake psychic visions.

“No.” Carlton pushed Shawn off, moved his knee so his other hand had room to slide down between them. When he touched himself—through his pants—Shawn shoved himself forward, his mouth wet and eager against Carlton's skin, open to let his whines of complaint escape. His voice was weak.

“Lassie, Lass, please. Please, let me. So long, I was just... Please. Come on. Lass.” He begged, his body moving at the right speed at last, not teasing, just pushing up and forward. Restless. He wanted to come, knew he wouldn't without Carlton's say so.

Carlton's palms itched again, and he pulled in a breath to calm himself, banishing thoughts of turning Shawn around and getting his pants down, lubing up with spit if he had to and spreading those ass cheeks apart before he thrust inside of him. Shawn would take what he was given and like it so long as he got to come.

Carlton gritted his teeth.

“So you understand?” he made himself ask. When he touched himself he was picturing fucking Shawn, and Shawn knew it. He nodded quickly, still moaning. “You agree?” Carlton had to say it; Shawn was red-faced and starry-eyed. Totally compliant.

Carlton put one hand to his hip and shoved him to the wall, stepped back with his other hand turned so that his palm was cradling Shawn's cock.

His watch beeped.

Carlton snapped his head up and forced himself backward before he could change his mind. He stopped when he bumped into the door, then lifted his wrist to stare blankly at his watch for a long moment.

Shawn was panting, making small, hurt noises that twisted in Carlton's stomach. But he turned off the alarm on his watch, then cleared his throat before looking up.

“Lass.” Shawn licked his lips. “Lassie...” He was staring, but arranged his face into something that was maybe supposed to be a leer, except that he was too turned on to pull it off. Carlton glanced down over Shawn's wrinkled shirt, his low jeans, his straining erection, and felt another dark, sick thrill.

It hadn't even occurred to Shawn that he could move yet.

“Shawn.” Carlton got most of the need out of his voice, though his hard on was also there for Shawn to see. Shawn's head came up; Carlton doubted he even realized how good he was being, how he was waiting for instructions. “Come here.”

He caught a glimpse of light in Shawn's eyes that meant Shawn still thought Carlton had been joking, that they would have sex in his station now. It made it easier to grab him as he got close and spin him around again.

The jangle of his keys made Shawn shudder and try to peer at him over one shoulder.

“But, but, Lassie. Aren't I your good little bitch?” He was somewhere in the middle of outright whining and pleading, with some teasing thrown in. Carlton gave in to the itch and yanked Shawn's jeans down before landing one firm, solid, open-handed smack to Shawn's ass.

“You know how I feel about that term, Shawn,” he murmured with obvious relish at Shawn's shocked indrawn breath and sudden stillness.

He removed the cuffs and then turned, taking advantage of how stunned Shawn still was, how he clearly didn't think Carlton would leave him like that.

Carlton narrowed his eyes, looking back once as Shawn turned. Then he smirked as Shawn's mouth fell open.

“Rules,” He spelled it out, since Shawn was clearly distracted. “Remember them next time.”

“Lassie! You can't just...!” Shawn instantly protested and Carlton lifted an eyebrow and slipped out the door. “Friday would never do this to Strebeck!” Shawn still had to pull up his jeans, straighten his shirt and hair. Possibly wait for his erection to go down, or for the marks on his throat to fade from red to pink. Possibly not. Not that Carlton had any intention of waiting to see.

He had work to do, and an erection of his own to deal with. He headed toward the bathrooms, his face hot but his head up to keep anyone's eyes from straying down. He walked quickly. Unlike Shawn, he didn't have to wait until tonight to relieve some of the pressure, though he debated it, not touching himself either. It was the one advantage to being not being as young as Shawn; he could wait.

As for the rest, well, he'd already proved he could be creative. He smiled around the ache.

He should buy a copy of the new edition. And call Heather, to tell her what a good job she'd done on it.  
Maybe tonight, with Shawn tied up and waiting, before he rewarded Shawn too.

If he still felt that generous, once he was done with his mountain of paperwork. He had a feeling he might be. Shawn wasn't likely to forget the rules this time, would think twice before demanding Carlton's attention. Or at least, demand it and know what he was getting into. That it wasn't all fun and games.

Carlton nodded to himself. Oh, Shawn definitely understood now.

Playtime was serious business.


End file.
